


Morning After

by Phynoma



Series: The In-Between [4]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst and Humor, Awkward Flirting, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Comfort/Angst, Dating, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Panic, Kissing, Love, M/M, Panic Attacks, Romance, Wizards, rogue watcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phynoma/pseuds/Phynoma
Summary: "As a fellow Aedyran, the wizard should have known better than to look, but he wasn’t moving. Sirín glared at him. This whole morning had turned into a mess of impropriety."Softer romance with some commitment anxiety thrown in, Aloth/Watcher. Developing lovers-to-enemies story (aka what happens when you're already sleeping with the villain).
Relationships: Aloth Corfiser & Iselmyr & The Watcher, Aloth Corfiser/Male Watcher, Aloth Corfiser/The Watcher
Series: The In-Between [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980169
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This features a new OC, Sirín. She was originally just filler and then I got interested in her story so there will be more with her later!
> 
> Edit: In this chapter I make a passing reference to the ceiliogaf, which is my solution to why elves don't have dozens and dozens of children over their insanely long lifespans. Due to my love of all fae everywhere and my desire to have D&D-type elves less like pointy-eared humans and more like, well, fae creatures, I have spent waaaaay too long mapping out elven lifespans, life stages, sexual/physical/emotional maturities, etc. I'll go into more detail in later chapters, but suffice to know that by this reference, Sirín can assume the two are, or will be, sleeping together.

Sirín pushed the door open without knocking. It was a few hours past dawn, which meant it was still early: the sun rose so early in the summers here. Not at all like Aedyr, which might have been hot and humid but was at least consistent on its sunrises and sunsets. It meant that even after three years here she still rose with the light, and that meant far too little sleep. The Watcher had started giving her concerned glances. If she didn’t do something soon, he might try to speak to her about her peaky appearance; or worse, go to the Steward about it. At least today she had a legitimate excuse for her sleeplessness. 

The Watcher had no issues sleeping through the sunrise, and he was still asleep when Sirín entered. He didn’t stir as she made her way around the room, sweeping up the ashes from the fireplace, replacing the water pitcher with a fresh one, gathering up stray glasses and laundry. She put her collection in her basket in the hall to be taken back downstairs. When she returned, he moved for the first time, mumbling into his pillow. His hair formed a dark halo around his head, a few surprising strands of gold gleaming amongst the brown. He was on his stomach, face buried, one hand clasped loosely around a spoke in the headboard. Relaxed. No nightmares last night, then. 

Apart from the occasional nightmares, he clearly had no issues getting to sleep, even in the summers. Then again, he had somehow found a solution to the early morning light. A single beam of sunlight streamed haughtily through a break in the curtains, but that was all. She eyed them, wondering how he got them so dark. Even the heavy material she used in her room didn’t seem to do the job. She would have to ask him when he was properly awake. She crossed to the window and yanked the curtains aside. 

“Morning, m’Lord,” she greeted crisply. The Watcher half-rolled over, enough to lift his face from the pillow and give her a squinted, bleary look through the disaster of his hair. 

“Good morning, Sirín,” he mumbled, more out of habit than consciousness. She bit back a smile; he reminded her of her brother in the mornings, tousled and innocent. Like her brother, the innocence was a facade; unlike him, the Watcher had the scars to prove it. Her brother hadn’t lived long enough to scar like that. Her smile faded. 

“You’ve got another busy day, I’m afraid,” she said, tying back the other curtain. He grunted, going to pull his covers back over himself. Then, in one sudden, panicked movement, he sat straight up and threw the duvet off as if it had bit him. He looked around wide-eyed, and then, seeing nothing, slumped back against the pillows. He was naked. Sirín lifted her gaze respectfully to the wall above the headboard 

“Are you alright, m’Lord?” she asked. Maybe she had been wrong about the nightmares. “Shall I return later?”

“No. No, I’m sorry, Sirín,” he replied, sitting up again and pulling his duvet back over himself. She lowered her gaze again carefully. He cleared his throat. “Just an odd night.”

An unpleasant thought entered her mind. “It’s not mites, is it, m’Lord?” she asked. “I can have the rooms scoured. Best to get on those quick. I thought one of the guests looked a little mite-bitten.” She narrowed her eyes distrustfully.

“Ah, no, not mites,” the Watcher assured her. He looked a little ruddy, though that might have been from the burst of adrenaline. She gave him a worried look, allowing her reserved air to drop just a little. 

“Is it the dreams?” she asked quietly. “I can ask Jeromy to put together a tisane for sleeplessness.”

The Watcher gave her a strained smile. “It’s really alright, Sirín. Don’t worry yourself.”

One of his hands was curled beside him in the bed, as if trying to fill the space. The smile wasn’t his usual one; it didn’t banish the emptiness in his eyes, or the weariness. He was lying, and poorly. It must have been a nightmare after all. 

He fixed the bed covers compulsively, his flush deepening when he realized she was watching. His slightly guilty look sent a pang of embarrassment through her, of offense. Did he think she would be so indiscreet as to continue down this line of questioning? She had been a proper valet in Aedyr, after all. 

Speaking of Aedyr…Sirín hesitated, remembering the particular reason why her sleep had been interrupted that morning. Post-nightmare was bad timing for news, but maybe she could at least distract him. She had certainly been distracted. Sirín felt the blush rising up her own face and increased the evenness of her voice to make up for it. 

“M’lord neglected to mention to the staff that Magus Aloth would be visiting,” she said politely, if a touch more accusatory than she should have been. 

For a second, the Watcher’s expression was still embarrassed and distracted, and then his gaze snapped to her. His eyes widened and the flush disappeared. 

She had already begun this badly, but maybe she could make it seem teasing rather than an accusation. “He was terrorizing the kitchen staff at all hours this morning,” she explained, trying to make her tone light as she had heard others do. It came out awkward. Humor was not her forte. 

She checked the Watcher’s expression and winced—yes, she had definitely made things worse. He had gone ashen, the fake smile gone completely. She had never seen him angry before, but she sensed that she was about to. His eyes were bright but his face was blank, a subtly threatening mask, scars livid against his bloodless cheeks. Tension rolled off him in waves. Sirín took a step back. 

“I’m sorry, my Lord: a joke in poor taste,” she said hastily, raising a hand in defense. “I only meant to say that we would have prepared a room for him—”

“He hasn’t harmed anyone?” the Watcher asked in a low voice. Sirín blinked.

“N-no, m’Lord.” 

He took a shaky breath. “So when you said ‘terrorizing’…” 

“Only that he startled Enesthia quite badly, sulking about the kitchen in the dark, which woke Ver and I, and…were you not expecting him, m’Lord?” This was quite unusual, and she started to understand why the Watcher was so disconcerted. 

“No, I wasn’t.” The Watcher scrubbed his hands over his face. “And you’re sure everything is alright?”

“Of course.” Sirín allowed herself a small frown. “Forgive me, m’Lord, but I thought the Magus was a friend of yours?”

An odd smile pulled at the unscarred corner of the Watcher’s mouth, and he let out a chuckle that didn’t seem entirely sane enough to be voluntary. “Of sorts.”

“Then perhaps m’Lord would like to inform him that breakfast is not until half-past six and he would do well to leave the staff in peace until then,” she said, confusion making her far more bold than usual. The Watcher lowered his hands and gaped at her. 

“He’s still here?”

“Of course I am,” Aloth’s voice came from the behind the open door, slightly impatient, and Sirín jumped. She hadn’t heard him approach. He laid his fingertips on her shoulder and leaned in to murmur to her as he stepped around her into the room. “Now, donnae be tellin’ tales about me, lassie. There’s far warse to be had if ye’re gantin oan it.” He raised one eyebrow at her with a sly expression before his eyes widened slightly and he turned his attention to the Watcher. Sirín felt herself go scarlet and only then realized that she had let the wizard pass by her without a struggle.

“What are you doing here?” the Watcher demanded, and Sirín stepped forward hurriedly to grasp at Aloth’s sash.

“Magus, my apologies, if you could just return downstairs until the Watcher is—”

“No, no, he can…he can stay,” the Watcher waved her words away without looking at her. His flush returned as he spoke to the wizard, dressed in Aedyran robes and clutching a mug of murkbrew in his hands with a slight smile on his face. “I thought…but you…"

“Well, don’ be actin’ collywobbled,” Aloth’s smile dimmed. Somehow he combined a tone of nervous primness with a Hylspeak brogue. Sirín stared at him. Now that she thought about it, his dialect had been that of the Cythwod before, which meant he was either far, far older than he looked or— “I can _cahr_ tainly leave if I’ve disturbed his Lordship…” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Watcher interrupted. In one quick movement he had rolled from the bed to his feet, and Sirín’s musings were cut short. She yelped and rushed to hold a sheet up around his body, while Aloth nearly tripped over her as he backed away. The Watcher ignored Sirín and embraced the wizard, pinning his arms to his sides and making him drop his mug with a crash. The Watcher said something too quiet for her to hear, Aloth replied just as quietly, his ears turning pink. He stood frozen, an uncomfortable, long-suffering expression on his face for a full second after Mirad finally released him. 

“You’re a mess,” Aloth told him haughtily, giving him a once over to hide his own discomfiture. His tone had recovered slightly, but there was a blush rising up his neck as well as his ears. A few of the Watcher’s braids had come undone and his hair was fluffy around his face. Despite Sirín’s best attempts, she had only managed to get the sheet partway around him, leaving his torso and much of his legs bare. He had less scars on his body than his face, but those he did made him seem all the more naked, emphasizing his ribs and the lines of his muscles, the elven lack of body hair on his chest and back. A line of lighter skin was visible at his hips where the sun hadn’t touched him to darken him to olive-bronze. 

As a fellow Aedyran, the wizard should have known better than to look, but he wasn’t moving. Sirín glared at him. It was bad enough the Watcher had forgotten himself, and that she could barely keep him decent in front of his guest, but for the guest to take advantage of the Watcher’s lapse of judgment was simply intolerable. This whole morning had turned into a mess of impropriety. She cleared her throat, satisfied when the wizard startled. His gaze flicked to her, suddenly cool, and he gave them both a slight bow.

“I will meet you downstairs,” he told the Watcher, “when you are clothed.” He hesitated, gave Sirín a nod, and then stalked from the room. Sirín sighed and let the sheet drop, going to close the door. By the time she had turned around again, the Watcher was hopping into a tight pair of breeches. She knelt to pick up the shards of mug. 

“M’Lord, I am sorry for the mess,” she said, to which he laughed and gave her a bemused look.

“Sirín, you’ve done nothing but help all morning, as usual,” he said. “I’m sorry my guest is so ill-behaved. I’ll have to talk to him about it.” 

She hesitated. “He is your guest, then?”

The smile he flashed her this time was genuine and positively radiant. “Yes, indeed. Would you mind setting up a room for him? The one next to mine will be fine.” 

She nodded, feeling that the day was already getting out of hand. “Would m’Lord like his day’s schedule now, or—?”

“After breakfast,” he said, throwing on a shirt. He glanced in the mirror in the corner, saw the state of his hair and did a double-take. “Oh Hel.”

“Let me, m’Lord,” Sirín said quickly, dumping the pottery shards into a rag and wrapping it up. She began untying his remaining braids and brushing his hair while he fidgeted. “If you don’t sit still,” she told him, “you will only make this take longer. The Magus said he would meet with you, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Right.” The Watcher stilled with obvious difficulty. There was a long pause. “What do you think of him?” he asked suddenly. 

Sirín blinked. “The Magus? I’ve only met him this morning, m’Lord. From the tales of your travels, he seems a fine companion. I am afraid I am unqualified to form an evaluation.” 

The Watcher chuckled. “Sirín, you are an astute judge of character and I trust your opinion. I know you have a first impression, at least. So, tell me candidly: what do you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment. Her fingers smoothed his hair, deftly rewove his sidelocks into braids. 

“He is…different than I expected. From your tales, I knew him to be Aedyran, but…” she hesitated. “Is he Awakened? Forgive me if that was too bold, I—”

“Yes,” the Watcher confirmed, cutting through her apology. He raised an eyebrow at her. “As am I, you know.” 

“Yes, m’Lord.”

“You can call me Mirad. No one else is around.”

She certainly would not. She arranged another braid around his head, biting her lip. 

“He is not much older than you, I think?” she said, avoiding the honorific entirely. 

“We’re the same age.”

“Ah.” She twisted a piece of leather through his hair, binding it in place. “My family’s erl’s consort had both a daughter and a son, a few decades apart in age. When I was young, the daughter used to watch over me sometimes. She was similar in age to what you are now, I believe—in her early eighties?” She didn’t wait for confirmation. Elves weren’t always sensitive about their ages, but it was probably not a question to dwell on. Her mother would have been horrified she had asked. 

“It was always a little odd,” Sirín continued thoughtfully. “She raised me, in a way, and yet by the time I was a woman we were more alike in temperament than not—like sisters rather than mother and daughter, despite her taking care of me for so many years.”

“You must have been close,” Mirad said quietly. “Is she still in Aedyr?”

Sirín’s hands faltered for moment. “I believe so,” she answered, recovering quickly. She didn’t elaborate, and was relieved when the Watcher let the subject drop. As soon as she stepped away he stood, fixing his collar and grinning at her. 

“I don’t suppose you were with her for her ceiliogaf?” he asked, and Sirín blushed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said cheerfully, crossing to the door to pull on his boots. 

“M’Lord…” Sirín began.

“Mirad.” 

She winced. “Forgive me, are you…that is to say, do you expect the Magus and yourself will…are you intending…?” Gods above and below, she wished she had paid more attention to how her mother handled these situations. The Watcher flashed her another grin as he headed out the door, mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

“Thank you for your assistance this morning, Sirín—I’ll meet you on the grounds in an hour to go over the rest of the day. You wouldn’t be able to have those sheets laundered, would you? Excellent. See you in a bit, then.” And he disappeared, leaving her blushing in the doorway. 

Aloth sat near a window in the main hall that, aside from a few rooms, took up all of Brighthollow II’s downstairs. Most of the guests and crofters had already broke their fast and headed out for their respective pursuits of the day, so the room was quiet. A half dozen guests of Brighthollow sat in various places along the three long tables in the center of the hall, but the wizard had wanted more privacy. The gaming tables near the windows suited well enough, though there were there were an excess of chairs between he and the Watcher when Mirad finally made an appearance.

“You embarrassed your valet this morning,” Aloth said by way of greeting.

“Me? I think you gave the poor snow-drop a heart attack. What on earth did you do to the kitchen staff this morning?”

“Nothing! I was just looking for a warm drink.” His mouth twisted. “I might have dropped a mug and woken the scullery maid.”

“That’s two mugs you’ve broken already. I’m going to start a tab.”

“And then she woke the other half of the kitchen, and it was all I could do to explain who I was before I ended up with a carving knife through my throat—”

“How on sweet Eora have you managed to stay alive for this long?” Mirad asked. Aloth scowled at him. 

“I can take care of myself, Watcher.”

“You,” Mirad chuckled, “are the worst spy in the history of the art.”

“Well, that’s not entirely fair,” Aloth sniffed. “I managed to hide Iselmyr and my connections with the Key for nearly four decades before we met.”

“And how long did that last after we met?”

Aloth stared at him for a long moment.

“You know, I…” He trailed off and took a draught from his second (third?) mug of murkbrew, not meeting the Watcher’s eye.

“Mmmmhmmm,” Mirad leaned back and crossed his legs, smirking. Aloth cleared his throat. 

“I’m not exactly hiding anymore, so perhaps my skills are a little rusty.”

“Sure. You know, Sirín figured you out immediately.”

“Your valet?” Aloth gave him a long, wary look. “Mirad, what did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know. You weren’t exactly being subtle with the Hylspeak this morning.” Mirad’s grin widened. “Or last night.”

Aloth ignored the barb, looking concerned. “I’m serious, Watcher. You didn’t say anything about my…employment?”

“No, no,” Mirad waved this away. “But she could tell you’d been Awakened, and I wasn’t going to lie to her about it.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Aloth sighed, running his hand back through his hair. “I know I just said I’m not hiding, but it would be safer for you and everyone at Brighthollow if you didn’t spread around word of my connections.”

“I promise,” Mirad said. “And don’t worry about Sirín. She’s a sweet girl, but very proper. Takes discretion very seriously. She won’t say anything about you to anyone; not even me, probably.”

“She’s Aedyran.”

“Her family was in service to an erl in Celstrae, apparently.”

“I see.” Aloth was shredding a sweet roll between his fingers. “Did you really think I wouldn’t stay?” he asked abruptly.

Mirad thought for a minute.

“It wouldn’t have surprised me if you’d gone,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Aloth nodded, pensive despite the destroyed pastry. 

“I’m not interested in a one-night stand, Watcher,” he said.

Mirad hadn’t thought that, either; but now that it had been said out loud, he wasn’t sure what he had thought. So he asked.

“Then what?”

“I still have work to do,” Aloth said, “but I would like to see you, whenever I can. It may not be very consistent; and I can’t give you any guarantees.” He tapped his roll against his plate and then put it down with a brief look of self-disgust. “I know it’s not exactly ideal, but—”

“Yes,” Mirad said. 

Aloth gave him a rueful smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Wait until I’ve finished, Mirad,” he chastised gently. “I am asking a lot of you, and I want you to think about it, really think about it. When we traveled together, it was different. Simpler, in a way. High emotions are easy to come by in a small group, even more so on a ship.” He cleared his throat. “The fact that our feelings haven’t changed over a decade is a good indication of stability, but that may mean nothing in practical terms. We lead very different lives, after all, and I can make you very few promises.”

“Let’s start with you promising not to murder me in my sleep,” Mirad joked, but Aloth’s mouth went thin and serious. 

“That’s exactly what I mean, Mirad,” he said, leaning forward. “I know you’re teasing, but the fact is we may find ourselves with opposing goals.”

“We’ll work it out when we come to it,” Mirad replied confidently, and was surprised when Aloth seemed to accept this answer without further argument. He moved on to more pressing concerns.

“Another thing. Right now you’re full of lust and heat, but it will fade, and I won’t be there for you. Or…or I may not.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands clenched on his knees. “Before you make any decision, I need you to think about that. There is a very real chance that I won’t be there when you need me. I will do everything in my power to provide whatever you desire of me, but it is likely I will fail you. It would be perfectly reasonable to turn me away. In fact, it would be the best option for you. Should you choose this, I admit I will be disappointed, but I will understand. I know you take pride in your honesty, and I have not proved myself exceptionally trustworthy in the past—”

“Yeah—like the time I suggested you dismantle the Leaden Key and you went ahead and made yourself the head of it?” Mirad said, and Aloth went pale green.

“Yes, like that,” he said weakly, but before he could continue Mirad chuckled and shook his head. 

“Aloth Corfiser. Come here, would you?”

It took a moment for Aloth to regain control of his limbs, but finally he stood and crossed to take the chair next to Mirad. 

“May I touch you?” Mirad asked. Aloth nodded, hands twisting in his lap. Mirad drew him into a stiff hug.

“Please think about it,” Aloth begged.

“I will. I am.”

“With your head, not your—”

“I’m thinking, Aloth.” Mirad kissed his cheek and release him. “Can I give you an answer tonight?” 

The wizard gave him a relieved smile. “Yes.”

“You won’t run off before then?”

“No. That much I can promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was difficult not to dwell on Aloth as he made his way around the crofts with the daily work. Luckily, few noticed Mirad’s distraction, or if they did they were polite enough not to mention it. He avoided Brighthollow for the rest of the day, guessing that Aloth would appreciate the space, and only returned half an hour before the evening meal to wash the dust from his face and hands and change into his preferred Old Vailian-style clothes. 

He checked the library first, then made a tour of the downstairs before finally heading outside. The sun was still high—it wouldn’t set for several hours this late in the season. Some instinct led him around Brighthollow II and to the ruined hedge maze. 

He picked his way across jagged stones and brambles. With the disruption of the earth and the way it had resettled, the maze had become more of a labyrinth; with experience, it was possible to follow some semblance of the path and cut a more-or-less straight route to the center. There he found Aloth exploring the remains of the gazebo, taking careful steps over shattered glass and twisted metal.

He looked up at Mirad’s approach. 

“Making up for memories?” the Watcher asked. Aloth gave him a small, somber smile.

“Something like that.” He pushed over a charred piece of stone with his toe. “Perhaps a little disappointed to lose the opportunity to visit the Rauatai den of iniquity.”

“If that’s the case, I can make it up for you tonight,” Mirad grinned. “I’m sure I’ve got some incense stored away someplace.”

Aloth picked up a shard of colored glass and examined it thoughtfully. “You smell sweet enough that that is unnecessary.” 

Mirad tripped over a stone. He recovered quickly, and skipped up to walk side-by-side with Aloth, nudging him with his shoulder. 

“If I’m not mistaken, that was almost flirting. What are you trying to do to me?”

Aloth snorted and took his hand. “Trying? Is that all I get?”

They continued following the lopsided circle. As they rounded a half-toppled wall overgrown with hedge, Aloth made a soldier-like turn on his heel and shoved Mirad into the stone. “Are you suggesting I haven’t been successful?”

“That depends on what you’re trying to do,” Mirad said, weak-kneed. Aloth’s face was an inch from his. There was a smile playing around his mouth, but the look in his eyes was dangerous. “I feel like I’ve already made a mistake here and there’s no good answer.”

Aloth’s eyebrow quirked up. “Very astute, Watcher.”

Mirad started to answer and was cut off by Aloth kissing him, hard. If he had any uncertainties after the previous night about whether the wizard reciprocated his passion, they were silenced just as entirely as his words. Aloth pinned his shoulders to the wall with his forearms so his hands were free to twist through his hair. One leg pressed between Mirad’s thighs. Heat and pressure throbbed down Mirad’s body. Aloth penetrated his mouth with his tongue, forcing himself deeper until Mirad felt like his jaw would crack. He gave a muffled groan, wanting him deeper, wanting more. As much as he could with his shoulders pinned, he ran his hands over Aloth’s body: lean muscle and jagged scars and soft, familiar gasps. Aloth’s hands tangled tighter through his hair and he pressed against him mercilessly. When he finally pulled away, Mirad felt like he had to unroll his eyes from the back of his head. 

“Hel.” Mirad was surprised when it was Aloth’s voice that spoke and not his own. The Watcher rubbed the back of his neck, feeling pleasantly light-headed.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said, but Aloth cut him off, his ears pink. He had backed up by several paces.

“No, I…I have been avoiding you all day, not wanting to influence your decision, and yet as soon as I see you I—”

“It’s okay.” Mirad stepped forward, raising his hands for truce. “It doesn’t affect my answer.” 

For a moment fear showed in the elf’s eyes before his face became blank and impenetrable once more. “And?”

“Yes.” 

Aloth stared at him for a long moment. 

“You are sur—”

“I thought about it,” Mirad interrupted, “and yes, I want to be with you. For however long we can make it work. You raised some valid concerns, and I’m not ignoring them, but I believe this—” he gestured between them— “is worth the risk.”

Something in Aloth’s face changed; it was hard to say what, exactly, but Mirad had the sense that behind the smooth mask, Aloth had just released several years of tension. Maybe about sixteen years’ worth. 

The wizard cleared his throat.

“Alright,” he said. “That…that’s good.”

Mirad felt himself leaning forward and resisted the urge to step closer. 

“Are you? Sure?” he asked cautiously. “Because, I mean, I’m not exactly a shipful of sunshine myself.”

“Oh, no,” Aloth said, with a fervency that made Mirad’s eyebrows raise, “I am quite certain of my feelings on the subject.”

“Okay, well, good,” Mirad said. “Then we’re in agreement.”

“Quite.”

Mirad finally took the step forward. He gave Aloth a wolfish grin. “So does this mean I can—” _kiss you_ was what he was going to say, but Aloth had turned a sickly shade of puce, so instead he asked, “are you okay?”

“Yes,” Aloth replied with a nervous laugh. A genuine, if somewhat wobbly, smile bloomed across his face. 

“Excellent,” Mirad said, closing the distance and running his hands down Aloth’s arms, “because for a minute there, you looked like you were about to be—”

Before he could finish speaking Aloth’s expression turned stricken. He pushed Mirad frantically aside, turned, and vomited onto the stone. 

“Oh, fuck,” Mirad said sympathetically. He pulled Aloth’s hair out of the way and rubbed his back until the wizard stopped heaving. Aloth groaned, still bent double, his ears and back of his neck bright red.

“Gods,” he muttered dejectedly. “Could you forget that happened? Can we just start this conversation over?”

Mirad was trying not to laugh. “Sure,” he said. “You want to sit down, maybe? Sorry, I didn’t bring any water. Um, I have an endurance potion, if you want.” 

Aloth accepted the vial, turning away to rinse out his mouth, and then covered his face with his hands. “This is humiliating.”

“It’s really okay,” Mirad assured him. He touched Aloth’s shoulders, meaning to steer him towards a seat, but Aloth flinched and tensed at his touch, so he walked over himself. There was a flat piece of bench that had somehow survived Eothas’ upheaval, and Mirad brushed it off and sat down. He patted the spot next to him and Aloth joined him, still livid.

“Did you eat anything today?” Mirad asked. He took Aloth’s hand in both of his and rubbed his thumb over it. “You got in pretty late last night, and I’m always a little off the day after traveling.”

Aloth gave him a look that said Mirad wasn’t fooling anyone, but he appreciated the effort. He sighed through his nose. 

“I’m sorry, Watcher,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, I…I really am happy—” He made a choked sound and wavered in place. 

“Maybe you’re allergic,” Mirad offered.

“To happiness?”

“I was going to say to me, but sure.”

Aloth let out a despairing groan and leaned his cheek on Mirad’s shoulder. “Nothing can be simple, can it?”

“Nope.” Mirad stretched out his legs. “All the more fun.”

He could feel the wizard’s frown. His voice when he spoke next was dry, sarcastic, even; but the words still stabbed through the Watcher’s heart.

“Perhaps. But for once I wish I could choose a path without feeling as if the choice might kill me.”

Mirad pulled him closer. 

“I love you,” he reminded him.

“I know,” Aloth sighed, and then, in a much smaller voice, continued, “so why does it hurt?”

Mirad went still for a moment, and then he turned and straddled the bench so he could bundle Aloth onto his lap. The wizard let out a sort of dignified yelp and then, when it was clear Mirad wasn’t going to accidentally dump him onto the ground, clutched at him. 

“It’s alright,” Mirad said.

“I don’t think I’m made for this,” Aloth gasped, rocking against him. “I can’t be enough for you. I can’t give you…I can’t…”

“Stop,” Mirad said, trying to soothe him. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

“But I _want_ to—” he insisted, starting strong before his voice cracked, and Mirad crushed him against his chest. 

“Whatever you can, then.” He groped up until he found the back of Aloth’s neck and forced his head to his shoulder. Aloth whimpered and pressed the bridge of his nose into Mirad’s collarbone. “Just like before. No expectations.”

Aloth was silent for a long minute. He seemed to be struggling with something. Maybe Iselmyr. Mirad searched for something to fill the pause. 

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, “for being honest with me. I know that was difficult to say, so it means a lot.”

Aloth let out a quiet, embarrassed moan and Mirad tightened his grip again, suddenly fearful.

“Please don’t run away from me,” he begged. Aloth rubbed his face against him. Mirad couldn’t tell if he was saying no or just trying to get a hold of himself. He adjusted Aloth’s legs over his so he was holding him completely, and Aloth responded by pressing his mouth over the meat of the Watcher’s shoulder—not biting, just gagging himself, as if he was repressing a scream. He was so tense his whole body was trembling. 

_Why does it hurt?_

Mirad made sure his grip was secure and then let his gaze go blank. He _reached_ and took Aloth’s soul in both hands, smoothing, soothing, until finally, after what felt like hours and what felt like merely seconds, the vibration in his chest slowed to a purr and the knots of twisted color loosened like relaxed muscles. Mirad came back to himself to find Aloth limp against him. He stroked his back as he had his soul. Aloth didn’t respond. 

The sky was just starting to darken, thin blue clouds dominating the horizon. They had about an hour before the sun actually set and darkness really set in. The Watcher was content to stay there all night if needed, even if it meant having to amputate his legs in the morning. 

But after an indeterminable amount of time, Mirad’s stomach growled, and that simple reminder of mortality broke the enchantment. Aloth stirred and sat up, looking a little dazed but otherwise devoid of the agony that had been there before. The color was back in his cheeks.

“Dinner,” he said simply. 

Mirad nodded and slid out from under him. He winced as several muscle groups came back to life, and took a minute to limp around the circle while Aloth gathered himself. He cast about for something to say.

“Bertha is getting better with her stews,” he informed the wizard. 

“Bertha is still with you? I’m impressed. And a little apprehensive.” Aloth gave him a quick, grateful smile, then went back to brushing the dust off his robes.

“Don’t worry,” Mirad assured him. “She’s actually a good cook when provided with the proper materials. And when there aren’t any weevils around.”

Their conversation fell back into an easy flow that lasted all the way back to Brighthollow II and through dinner. After, Mirad showed Aloth the guest room, which the wizard set about arranging and rearranging with obvious delight. Mirad left him to it, and spent the rest of the evening updating his logbooks. He had just finished his journal entry for the day when there was a knock. 

“You promised me incense,” Aloth said, when he opened the door separating the two rooms. Mirad grinned and threw his arms wide.

“Welcome to my den.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who do not suffer from anxiety, let me only say that when I started dating my partner I had such horrendous panic attacks that I almost broke up with them two weeks in (we'd gone on one date) because I couldn't sleep through the night, and on the flipside, I once went on a date with someone who threw up from pure nerves, so um...fiction is based on reality, I guess is all I'm sayin'.


End file.
